


mono no aware ; 物の哀れ

by 3rdgymbros



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader is an elf, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdgymbros/pseuds/3rdgymbros
Summary: [ lemiel silvamillion clover x reader ]
Relationships: Lemiel Silvamillion Clover/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a review !

**mono no aware ( 物の哀れ )**

( n. ) lit "the pathos of things"; the awareness of the impermanence or transience of all things,

and the gentle sadness and wistfulness at their passing.

* * *

Your favorite dress is bright vermillion, with no sleeves, and very little back. Your people have always favored the loose, simple chiton styles, as opposed to the structured heavy velvets and silks that the humans wear. It makes you look almost like a princess, complete with the fresh flowers woven through your hair, though your mother would pinch at your cheeks and claim otherwise, with the way that your face is currently twisted up into an expression of wide-eyed wonder.

It’s not directed at Licht; rather, it’s directed at the two humans with him. You’re not alone in your reaction; many other elves are watching the humans with wary eyes, giving them a wide berth as they venture through the village.

“They’re humans,” Your elder sister Lenna murmurs, and something dark flickers across her expression as she takes your hands in hers and turns away. You’re forced to turn away with her, and you’re left with an abrupt sense of loss as you’re no longer able to see the boy with the golden crown glittering in his hair. “ **( Your Name )** , let’s go.”

* * *

Ironically, it’s a human who ends up saving you.

Your parents, wary of the humans who keep coming back to the village, have forbade you from leaving the house. Restless, looking for diversion, you turn to exploring the gardens of Bougainvillea House. The place is half-wild with papaya trees, mango, wild orchids, spider lilies, and an abundance of bougainvillea after which your house has been named. At the back of the house is a small lake, its grassy banks ending in coarse _lallang_ upon which monitor lizards sometimes sun themselves. You’ve seen minnows, and crabs and crayfish stalking about the weeds.

One second of misplaced footing is all it takes, and you slide right off the banks and into the water with a shriek.

Before you even hit the surface, you feel its chill and see your skin turn an icy blue. As the water erupts around you, it pours into your still shrieking mouth. You cough and splutter, gulping down even more. Your legs flail as you search for the bottom, more resembling an octopus than a human being. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, and right as you’re sure that you’re going to die, a gentle grip yanks you out of the water.

Your dazed mind thinks that he’s an angel at first.

“Are you alright?” He speaks slowly, so that your still-reeling mind can have a chance to understand him.

You can’t form words, only cough, but he rubs circles on your back reassuringly, and sheds his damp cloak to drape over your form. Later, you would look back on this gesture and blush; it’s tradition for husbands to drape fabrics over their newly-wed spouses during the wedding ceremony, and you can’t fault him for doing so unknowingly, since he isn’t aware of your customs.

“Do you need anything?”

As the spots clear from your vision and your mind comes back to the earth, you realise that it’s no angel. The man standing in front of you is a _human_. The male human, hanging around Licht. Up close, he has pale skin and small, delicate features. His eyes are the blue of the warm summer sky, and his thick blond hair is plastered wetly to his face. His strange clothes are soaked through, though it’s nothing compared to how sheer your dress has become, but he still manages to smile brightly at you, asking once again if you’re unhurt.

As you catch your breath, trying to ignore the flush on your cheeks, and the traitorous thumping of your heart, he tells you his name and proclaims that the both of you are friends, as if it’s as simple as that.

* * *

Lemiel makes an effort to seek you out when he visits, sometimes accompanied by his smiling sister and Licht, sometimes without. His smiles are freely given, and each time, his presence sweeps through you, filling you with amazement that, although for so many years he had been so near, you’ve had no knowledge of his existence.

You grow daring enough to slip out of the grounds, careful to remain unseen as you hurry to meet him.

You should have known that no secret ever remains a secret in the village, and soon, your parents find out and bar your way one evening, as you prepare to make your escape.

Your mother is incensed in a way that you’ve never seen her before, shaking a finger at you. “He isn’t the same! He isn’t one of us! He could be dangerous!”

“He’s my friend,” You say. In the face of her fury, you falter for the briefest of moments, but then the thought of Lemiel waiting for you overriding every other emotion. One way or another, you’ll see him; you’ll have your way, and you tilt your chin up in determination. “He’s my friend, and I’m going to see him.”

_His dream of coexisting seems so far away,_ you think that night, as you meet him in your secret clearing under the gazebo, but you don’t say anything. You’re unusually quiet, and your famed sharp tongue is weighing heavily inside your mouth. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder and let his voice wash over you, a cool silk shawl that drapes over you and lulls you into a feeling of peace and serenity.

* * *

You’ve been getting used to having two humans in the village, but never before have you spoken to Tetia alone; she and Licht have become close, and they’re often seen wandering about hand-in-hand, wrapped up in their own little world. Tetia takes the teasing that comes her way in stride, with a good-natured smile and retort for everyone who stops to chat.

The smell of roses tickles your nose; blue silk skirts and silver slippers fill your vision as footsteps approach, lighter and slower than you’ve been expecting. You know instinctively that it’s not Lemiel, and even though your heart sinks in disappointment, the expectation is clear in your eyes when you look up from weaving a crown of flowers, placing a spell on them so that they’ll stay fresh for longer.

Tetia’s hair seems lit from within by tawny light and frames a slim face of high cheekbones. Her eyes are hazel and slanted, cat-like against her light olive skin. She appears radiant and impossibly beautiful as she gifts you with a smile, and motions to the empty patch of grass next to you.

“May I sit?” She asks, her voice a musical lilt.

You shrug your shoulders non-committedly, to which Tetia takes as a yes, and it’s without a word that you continue weaving your crown of flowers. You’ve amassed quite a number of them in your wicker basket to hand out to your friends, and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re hoping to see Lemiel, to pass the best one to him. He may have a crown of gold, but you think that the softness of the flowers brings out the roses in his cheeks.

“Is –”

A small smile plays at her lips, but this one seems slyer somehow, even as she shakes her head and gazes at you out of the corner of her eye. She hugs her knees to her chest. “He isn’t coming today. Father wished to see him, I’m afraid. He’ll be stuck in meetings all day.”

The realization twists your gut because it’s a reminder of how close the two of you have become in just a short span of time. The blunt reminder of Lemiel being royalty makes you feel as though you’ve been dunked in cold water; again, it’s made apparent that the two of you come from two different worlds. Tetia must see how your eyes widen, how the color drains out of your face under the heat of the blinding sun, and she hurries to apologize, tripping over her words in her haste to make things right.

You sigh. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nods, but you can tell that she doesn’t believe you. She opens her mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Licht.” You say instead, your mouth twisting up as you change the subject abruptly.

Tetia counters instantly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with –”

“He’s nice.” You say, cutting her off before she can apologize again, for bringing up her brother. “I like him.”

“He likes you too,” She replies, and the knowing glint in her eyes only darkens.

* * *

Your hours together are filled with a strange expansion you know he also feels, your emotions growing every time you see him.

Sometimes, Lemiel brings an instrument made of wood and strings, a contraption he calls a ‘violin’, and plays for you, plucking hesitantly at the strings, his tongue poking out in concentration. The music, although sometimes broken by a bout of laughter or a squawking trail of notes, curls through you both. If you’re in a particularly good mood, or if Lemiel has his way, you’ll twirl about, barefoot on the grass, your skirts fluttering about your knees. You’re the best dancer in the village, and the music speaks to you, _lives_ in you, and you heed its call with gleeful abandon, losing yourself in it.

He tells you interesting, irrelevant things, about magic, about his latest inventions, the magic tools he’s tinkering with in his room. He always carries a book, is always reading. Sometimes, he’ll read out passages from the dusty tomes as you press your cheek to his neck and look at the faded, yellowing pages. You sit close to him on the bench, your legs touching as you talk.

Sometimes, you’ll take him to the lake at the back of your house. The two of you kick off your shoes and wade into the shallow waters. Tucking your dress into your undergarments, unashamed – though Lemiel averts his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red – you splash water at him, amongst the weeds and slippery lichen. The two of you always take care to keep to that part of the canal that’s tucked away from Bougainvillea House by the overhanging trees.

Only away from him do you realize that this is happiness.

At night, you remember his face, and sleep.

* * *

“I saw you at that wedding a few days ago,” Lemiel says, after a long stretch of comfortable silence. You let out a hum of acknowledgement, but focus on planting more flowers in your garden, burying your hands deep into the earth and sprinkling water atop the mound. You could use your magic to command the flowers to grow instantly, as you do with the crops in the village, but you love seeing how the seeds slowly grow into the fragrant blooms. “You were dancing with some other girls.”

The compliment surprises you. You hadn’t thought that he’d been watching, and the knowledge makes your cheeks warm, sends a shiver dancing down your spine and has gooseflesh pimpling your arms. “You should have come over. We could have danced together.”

“I’m not much for dancing, I’m afraid.”

Silence falls again. The soft sounds of people and commerce drift down to you, but the two of you are wrapped safely in the green embrace of the trees above.

“Tetia’s pregnant.”

“I heard,” A smile lights up your face, tinged with secrecy and mischief as you remember the surprise party that everyone’s planning for the newly engaged couple. Everyone’s had to keep Fhana away, knowing that her contagious giggles would give the game away almost instantly. “I’ve been roped into helping to plan the wedding. She wants a spring wedding.”

For some unknown reason, Tetia had wanted you specifically as a bridesmaid, and you’d found yourself unable to turn her down, even if that means having to spend hours upon hours at the dressmaker for your fittings. You bear it good-naturedly, the hours made slightly more bearable with Tetia chattering away by your side.

“What about you?”

You eye him. His smile seems perfectly innocent, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s offering to put a ring on your finger, and his cloak around your shoulders once again. You don’t tell Lemiel that you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with him; you’re far too proud for that, and there’s a small part of you that’s actively conscious of the fragility of what you both have. You don’t want to be the one to break the spell. “I don’t want a spring wedding.”

A smile turns up the edges of his lips, and it’s with his next words that you feel something shift inside of you. “What about an autumn wedding?”

“Are you offering?”

“Do you want me to?”

_Yes._

You stare incredulously, but have to try to smother the giddiness his words bring out in you. It’s a heady feeling, like you’ve swallowed down a mouthful of liquid sunshine, and even as you try to hide it, an exquisite smile blooms across your face; Lemiel’s own smile widens in response.

_We’re technically already married,_ you think, but what you say is, “No, of course not. We’re not getting married until you put a ring on my finger and a donkey in my father’s yard.”

* * *

The party is in full swing by the time Lemiel arrives.

The village square is lit up in the dark of night with lamps and the fullest moon you’ve ever been under. Everywhere around you people laugh, dance, and play. The musicians strike up a tune that has everyone tapping toes and dancing.

You smile, the joy contagious. “Dance with me.”

You’re dressed in saffron yellow silk today, the fabric draping over both your shoulders in wide swaths and a neckline high enough to cover your clavicles. The bodice is pinned tighter around your torso, so that it highlights the curve of your waist.

You hold out a hand to Lemiel, and he takes it, as easily as breathing, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. He has, but never in public, as openly as he has now, and you don’t miss the way everyone is staring at your intertwined fingers, his calloused palm pressing against your own as you pull him after you, onto the dance floor.

Lemiel’s hands come to rest on your waist; for once, he looks unsure of himself, almost resembling a deer caught by surprise in the light. His steps are clumsy, hesitant, and his foot comes down hard on yours, eliciting a wince from you, followed hard on the heels of a breathy laugh. The warmth of his touch seeps through the silk of your dress; laughing, drunk on the sheer atmosphere and a touch too much wine, you press closer, your cheek against his neck.

Lemiel lets you guide him into something resembling the complex steps of the dance. You almost blend into the twirl of the other dancers around you, but you’re not foolish enough to believe that people aren’t watching you and the human prince. Tetia swirls by, her blonde eyebrows arching so high that they nearly disappear into her hair, but her mouth is smiling as she takes in the two of you, far too close for comfort.

“You can’t dance,” You say lightly, teasingly. Your heart is hammering so loudly it feels like everyone present can hear it, even over the flutes and the drums. “Is there anything else you can’t do?”

“He can’t cook, he forgets to eat half the time, and you have to force him out of his room sometimes,” Tetia chips in on a laugh, right before Rhya cuts in and steals her from Licht.

Roses bloom upon his cheeks. “Tetia!”

“Well,” You say wryly, “It’s a good thing I know how to cook.”

Lemiel stares. His shoulder muscle tightens under your hand and his skin almost feels warmer. “What?”

“I know how to cook,” You repeat, your footsteps slowing to a halt. You have to tilt your head back to stare at him, and his eyes are so blue that you could almost drown in them. “And I know how to bake, too.”

He catches his breath. “You're sure?”

“About my cooking skills? Yes, I'm sure.”

A slow smile blooms across his face, spreading up into his eyes, making them smolder. You feel your pulse quicken and smile back.

Nothing else needs to be said.

* * *

Wrapped up in the sky blue silk of his cloak, your nose crinkles on a tired yawn as you lean over and kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his shoulder, just above his shirt collar. “Will you be coming to the wedding tomorrow?”

“I’ll be late,” Lemiel says. His fingers are tangled in your hair, combing through the strands idly. “My father wants to see me.”

“Late to your own sister’s wedding,” You tease, propping yourself up on your arm. “I’m shocked.”

Lemiel laughs and rolls you over so that he’s looming over you, shoulder-length gold hair tickling your cheeks as he presses another lazy, lingering kiss to your mouth. When he pulls back, you follow him a couple of inches before breaking the kiss.

“I’ll be the one in blue,” You’re looking forward to wearing your dress tomorrow, the silk cool against your skin, with aquamarine pieces sewn into the hem and neckline. You’d specifically requested the color, noting how it matches his eyes perfectly. “I’ll even save you a dance. As many dances as you want.”

* * *

_It hurts so much,_ you think. _Lemiel, Lemiel, everyone’s dead . . . Please, please, Lemiel, please make it stop hurting._

Your whole body feels on fire, your limbs are leaden, and your mouth seems to be clogged with warm mud. Blood runs hot over your fingers, staining the skirts of your gown.

And you think, _I wanted Lemiel to see me in blue, I wanted to dance with him forever, for as long as I lived._

Then something sharp pierces through your body, and its bite is cold and red.


	2. Chapter 2

Your death is violent and bloody; your life snuffed out before it had a chance to even begin.

And now, in death, when you’re no longer tethered to this world, it’s Lemiel who finds your body, your aquamarine dressed torn to shreds, a bouquet of bloodied roses still clutched in your hands.

It’s Lemiel who holds onto your rapidly-cooling body, giving it the tenderness it never received during your final moments.

It’s Lemiel who whispers _I’m sorrys, I love yous_ , and _whys_ into the crown of your head, in a voice that is not so much breaking as is already broken.

But it’s too late, you’re far beyond hearing and answering, and Lemiel can only hold you tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Lemiel haunts your dreams.

In them, the two of you are young again, unburdened and unfettered by anything. Licht and Tetia, your parents, teasing you and Lemiel for every little show of affection. Lemiel and you walking through the garden hand in hand, kissing him goodbye when he leaves for court, kissing him hello again when he finally returns. Your belly rounding underneath the cotton of your chiton, Lemiel’s smile as he places a hand atop of your stomach. You want that life so badly that your chest aches and there is nothing you wouldn’t give to have it.

Your eyes fly open. You wake up in a cold sweat. The weight of yesterday is heavy on your shoulders. You remember blood. You remember pain. You remember _dying_.

_Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here._

Your limbs feel _wrong_ somehow; they feel much too short, your fingers and hands smaller than you remember them being, and your body feels weighted down, much too heavy. Carefully, you run fingers through your hair, pulling apart each strand. You look down at your body, clothed in an unfamiliar tan and blue uniform, a far cry from the loose chitons that you’d loved to wear.

“Lemiel?” You call out his name into empty air, but only silence answers you.

You still cling to the foolish, foolish hope that he’s still around.

An unfamiliar grimoire lies on the table in front of you. You grab it and run before you can talk yourself into staying put.

* * *

Though the white, angel-like wings on your back continue to flap, keeping you up in the air, you aren’t conscious of it at all. Tears stain your face, yet crying has also become an involuntary reflex. Grief numbs you, the knowledge of you and your family having died meaningless deaths, a pawn in this devil’s game, weighs heavily in your stomach.

 _“Lemiel,”_ You say, your shoulders shaking, your voice fraying. “What did you do to him? Did you kill him too?”

The devil’s mouth splits open in a blood-red grin. **“That human prince was a thorn in my side until the very end.”**

You feel as though an invisible hand is strangling you. You open your mouth, but only a croak comes out.

“ **( Your Name )**?” Licht’s murmur reaches you.

“I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else,” You vow, anger and hatred clouding your vision. “We’re putting an end to this, right here, right now.”

* * *

It’s Lemiel who saves you again, mirroring your first meeting almost five hundred years ago.

Your wings are blasted apart; it’s with a scream and in a shower of crimson that you find yourself falling, _falling_ , into the arms of a familiar figure. The breath soughs from your lungs in a gusty exhale, fresh tears prickling at your eyes all over again.

“L-Lemiel?” Your voice breaks, and refuses to put itself back together.

His appearance is familiar and unfamiliar all at once; a golden crown still rests upon equally golden curls, but parts of his face are grey and cracked, almost resembling stone. His eyes are still the same shade of blue that you remember, but his irises are that of rough-cut sapphire stones. You don’t know what else to say, besides the garbled mess of words resembling his name. Even if you’ve the words to speak, you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to get them out.

Hesitantly, your fingertips touch his cheek and jaw. “You didn’t come.”

“ **( Your Name )**?” His voice is rough.

You let your hand move from his jaw to his neck. “You never came for our dance.” You can’t find it within yourself to sound accusing **.** All you can do is look at Lemiel, drinking in the fact that he’s here with you. And you realize that he’s doing the same thing.

The world is collapsing, and the only thing that really matters to you is that he’s alive.

* * *

You can see the parade of souls in the sky, bathed in a warm golden glow. You see your parents, your sister, your friends . . .

Your fingertips tingle and your legs feel like you’ve waded waist-deep into the ocean. A current of energy, and something else, rolls around you, threatening to overwhelm you and lift you spiritually out of your body. It requires huge amounts of concentration to stay focused, but even then, you know that your time in this realm is short.

You’ll be dying again, and for real this time.

You lunge for Lemiel, holding his crumbling body close to yours. You rest your head against his chest and let your tears come quietly, but freely.

“Don’t cry, **( Your Name )**.”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your head. He bends down, brushing rapidly-cooling lips over your forehead, the bridge of your nose. Lemiel kisses your cheek, and you feel his breath on your lips, his mouth close to yours, but not touching.

“I won’t leave you alone this time,” Lemiel breathes. “I’ll be following you soon.”

You smile, all the while fighting the urge to leave, the tugging pulling you away from him as the sleeping soul within you begins to stir.

“I’ll definitely come and find you.” You vow, pressing your body closer to his, as though you can anchor him to you through sheer force of will alone. “In the next life, we’ll definitely be together. Next time for sure.”

“Next time.” Lemiel repeats, barely a whisper.

And then, just at that moment, when you’re no longer sure if you’re dreaming or awake or already walking the thin line between life and death, you feel the flutter of his lips against yours, but it’s too late, you’re slipping, you’re gone, he’s gone, and the moment curls away and back on itself like a flower folding up for the night.


End file.
